


Somewhere Along The Way

by BlackVelvet42



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Smut, Friends With Benefits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-08
Updated: 2019-11-08
Packaged: 2021-01-25 12:10:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21356056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackVelvet42/pseuds/BlackVelvet42
Summary: "If anything in your world is certain, it’s his willingness and ability to bring you bliss beyond comprehension."
Relationships: Chakotay/Kathryn Janeway
Comments: 20
Kudos: 73





	Somewhere Along The Way

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you Killermanatee for the beta<3

* * *

Through the haze of your dream, you feel a warm hand on your foot. The firm touch guides your mind to the present, into a recollection of delights that left you so exhausted you dozed off even though you meant to wait for him to finish his shower.

“I’m sorry, I…” you murmur, but he only smiles and hushes you quiet.

“Close your eyes, love. Let me make you feel good,” he says, and you sink back into the pillows. If anything in your world is certain, it’s his willingness and ability to bring you bliss beyond comprehension.

He pushes the covers aside, revealing your legs up to your thighs, and as the cool air brushes over your sleep warm skin, you shiver and hug the blanket tight against your chest.

The low rumble of his laughter is easy and understanding. By now, he’s learned that once sleep has claimed you, the need to remain comfortable overrides everything else, maybe even the prospect of another long-awaited round with him.

Your languid state only spurs him on, the twinkle in his eyes confident that soon enough, the blanket will lay forgotten on the floor and the heat you create together will shine on your face for days to come.

Steady and sure, his fingers slide up your legs and over the knees, then nudge your thighs apart. His gaze moves to your bare sex, still swollen and pulsing from your earlier passion, and you shiver at thinking how much of you he sees. He bows to plant a kiss on your inner thigh as if your body is his altar and when he lowers himself onto the bed, presses another open-mouthed kiss even higher, and pushes his arms under your thighs, you know exactly what you are about to receive.

The sound you make is weak and needy and you feel his smile against your skin. Without hurry, he travels closer to your core, his hot breath making you quiver, shift, and moan.

Unlike many other nights when he’s kept you on the verge of coming, tonight he doesn’t want to tease. He simply closes the distance and draws the tip of his tongue along your labia in one slow, feather-light lick and you let out a rapturous whimper.

That first contact is always such a thrill. Whether the last time has been an hour or a month ago, the pleasure runs through you like electricity, setting you ablaze. It’s a force you won’t fight, only surrender to, anticipating the heaven only seconds away.

Without him prompting, you open your legs further, every inch of you turning to him like a flower to the sun. What he is about to give you fills you with gratitude. The least you can do is allow him room to do his magic, freedom to build this realm where only you and he exist.

One hand resting on your belly, the other cupping your buttock, he laps over your opening from bottom to top, swirls his tongue on your clit, then moves on to nibble your folds. Your heart picks up speed as he repeats the motions and you can’t decide which you want more; for him to continue this glorious, unhurried lovemaking with the miracle that is his mouth, or move on to a rougher, straightforward handling you equally enjoy.

Not that the decision is yours to make.

He feels your impatience, your restless movements trying to push closer to him for a firmer contact, but he holds you still, his grip on your hips pressing you down with more force now. Only when you relax and yield does he give you what you crave for.

His tongue slides inside you and dives as deep as he can reach, stirring the memory of his hard length filling you not thirty minutes before, and when he shifts and sucks your clit into his mouth, beginning a steady circular motion, your loins are soon on fire and your nub has turned from a master into a slave, begging and crying for his eternal attention.

Your hands seem unable to decide what to do. They twine into his short hair, clutch and pull him near, then you remember how he really does work best if you don’t suffocate him with your enthusiasm, and they fly to your sides and grab the sheets instead.

Like a reward for your obedience, a long finger pushes into you and you feel like weeping, knowing this next part will be your undoing. Slowly, he proceeds deeper and spreads your slickness, and after a few strokes, he adds another finger and lowers his lips again. You gasp and tense, the power of the sensations pulling you into a storm.

Somehow, he makes everything more intense, more complete - and more addictive, a voice at the back of your mind adds. Without a doubt, he knows your body better than you ever have and while you would like to say that it’s a shame, that you should have the best insight to your satisfaction, it really isn’t. Because the truth is, the connection between his touch and the millions of nerve endings in you all singing to the tune he sets is your deliverance, your private paradise.

The short thrusts of his fingers grow more determined, the massage inside you deep and strong. His tongue on your clit moves in perfect speed and pressure without interruption, both of you committed to the one goal your heated whispers and writhing body chant over and over again.

His hand trails up to cup your breast, to roll and pinch your nipple as you enjoy, but the tension is already too close to the edge so you cover his hand and crush his fingers into your soft flesh, reveling in the roughness that matches the fierce pleasure he’s creating at your core.

Your legs are trembling, and your breath is erratic, and when your last _ please _ breaks into a cry, your control falls apart along with your solemn promise to treat him nice. In the surge of ecstasy, your back arches up from the mattress and your knees clutch his head, your nails digging into his scalp and keeping him just. where. you. want. him.

The climax rushes over you, wave after sweet wave, your skin hot and your whole body alive. Only when the aftershocks ease and your muscles relax, you come down from your high enough to realize your thighs are still wrapped around his head, your grip on his hair painfully tight. 

It’s not the first time you release your hold after orgasm and gaze at him with a drunken, grateful, if not also a slightly sheepish grin, hoping he’ll forgive you yet again. He places the last kiss on your throbbing clit and raises his eyes, grinning back, shamelessly smug, knowing you did your best to be gentle but the hunger he evokes in you is too great to restrain.

He gets up and you stretch like a cat, utterly sated and very much pleased with this arrangement you settled for early in your long journey home. You lift the cover to invite him to stay, to continue with another round you both know won’t happen again anytime soon, but he shakes his head and reaches for his clothes.

You quirk an eyebrow in surprise and a question, and he responds with a small smile and a glance downward, and you wonder what has changed since the last time you met like this: containing yourself barely enough for the doors to lock and the uniforms to come off before ending up fucking against the wall or the desk or that couch in his quarters that feels like it was built for sex, rushing to ease the worst pressure before sweeter, slower pleasures are even possible.

When he’s dressed, he comes to kiss your forehead in goodbye, but even though you remember _ no talking, no cuddling, no useless affection, _ your instincts roar not let him go yet.

You curl your arms around him and pull him into a thorough kiss, as passionate as it is dangerous, telling yourself you are merely ensuring the continuity of this regular service every two weeks, this deal that has proven to be more delightful and beneficial than you believed. But when you open your mouth to him like you did your thighs earlier, it hits you that somewhere along the way, you’ve also opened your heart.

You don’t know when and you don’t know how, but he’s come to mean far more than you ever intended. In the most primal sense, he’s threaded himself into your very being, lighting not only these stolen nights, but your days as well, making the present worth living and the future worth the struggle. 

And still, even as his gentle lips move on yours and you admit these truths in the silence of your heart, you know your responsibilities will come first. They have to. Because surely your personal happiness and your duty as captain cannot exist in the same universe.

So you end the kiss with the most tender caress on his face you dare to offer not to risk the fragile balance and whisper softly, almost as a plea, “Two weeks. I need this. I need you.”

* * *


End file.
